Late Bloomers

Have you ever listened to one of those teenaged classical violin prodigies that is performing with a major symphony while their classmates are out learning how to drive? What about that floppy-haired saxophonist who can outplay professionals twice his age? Well, I hate them.
Setting aside the old question of talent versus practice time, it just seems unfair that there are musicians who can play with awesome technique and sincere feeling when they haven't experienced enough of life to earn an artistic voice. Therefore, I was heartened to read an essay by Malcolm Gladwell in his recent book, "What The Dog Saw". He argues that some artists achieve greatness early, while others are late bloomers, and he analyzes the difference between the two. Gladwell cites the example of a writer whose first successful novel was written after he was retirement age, and the painter who rose from decades of youthful mediocrity to produce masterpieces once his hair had grayed. If nothing else, these examples offer hope to those of us who have long passed the stage where we might become "early bloomers".
Upon analysis, the artists who produced works of quality at an early age seemed to find their direction from within. Rarely was there evidence that they had learned from other artists or experiences. While arduous practice honed their skills, the content of their art seemed to appear fully-formed. This is reminiscent of descriptions of autistic savants, those mentally challenged artists or mathematicians who simply "see" the object of their imagination and record the images or numbers as they see them. One autistic child of ten could sketch a Gothic cathedral in beautiful detail from memory, but when the sketching was repeated years later it was no better and no worse. His artistic ability was a gift, but it did not progress or grow. Less challenged writers and painters certainly show growth in their ability over time, but it still comes from within, rather than from careful research and experience.
"Late Bloomers" take a different course, according to Gladwell's analysis. Usually these artists' initial attempts were very mediocre and offered little reason to continue their efforts. But continue they did, experimenting with different approaches and looking to their external environment for ideas. Their gifts included diligent research to find new relationships in material from their real-world experience, weaving ideas together in different ways until gradually their works became meaningful and mature. These late bloomers bring more of external reality into their work as they slowly develop their skills, like flavors that blend together in a slow-cooked stew.
The idea that artistic ability could be gradually acquired and improved over a lifetime is encouraging. But as I thumbed thru my "Listener's Guide To Classical Music" looking for biographies of famous classical musicians who overcame average youthful abilities to achieve greatness, I found no examples. Nearly every famous composer had already made their mark by their early 20's. I considered the jazz greats, and failed to discover any well-known players that had labored in mediocrity before developing a distinctive instrumental voice in middle age. Bill Evans described himself as a mediocre player who had to gradually work out every aspect of his piano playing for years before he could bring it to his performances, but even he doesn't qualify as a "late bloomer". One of his best compositions, the beautiful waltz "Very Early", was written as an assignment for a college music class.
This is discouraging, but perhaps it only means that fame is reserved for those musicians that can turn their precocious abilities into a successful career. The musical late bloomers are forced to slowly develop their artistic abilities while they are working day jobs and raising their families, squeezing in an hour of practice after the children are asleep and searching on Craigslist to find jam sessions and casual gigs. But maybe after their children have grown and left for college, the late bloomers take what they have learned over the years and create meaningful music from their decades of experience and interrupted study. We probably won't hear much about these musicians, but their voices will be heard.

NATURAL PULSES

It is a strange phenomenon. A musician may practice diligently for months on end and seemingly make no progress. Then circumstances restrict or eliminate practice time for a month. Suddenly a gig comes up, which the musician accepts eagerly (wouldn’t we all, no matter how rusty we are?). Fearing the worst from weeks away from the instrument, the player finds that his playing is uncharacteristically fluid, creative, and musical; it seems that he has improved more from inactivity than from the previous months of disciplined “woodshedding”.
Musicians that I have talked to have all experienced this sort of rapid improvement after a hiatus from playing. Pianist Kenny Werner describes this experience vividly in his book, “Effortless Mastery”, and it prompted his leap from amateur to professional jazz musician. I suspect the same story could be told in other creative or scientific pursuits. There must be an reason.
Explanations always lead back to the neurons in our central nervous system. We know that our brain cells are constantly sprouting new branches, synapsing with neighboring neurons in a frenzy of connection. Learning seems to involve reinforcing the chosen connections and pruning away the irrelevant branches of the neurons. I imagine the brain like one of those topiary animals you might see at the park; the shrubbery is allowed to grow and become bushy, and then the branches are trimmed away until the form of an elephant or giraffe emerges. Perhaps the brain needs a little inactivity to grow bushy and fertile with new neural branches.
This principle of “pulses” of activity and inactivity seems to be a principle of nature. In some way, the seasons we experience on this planet act in this way on our biological systems. The hardship of winter selects and shapes the exuberant growth of the fertile summer. Paleontologists think that the ice ages worked on a larger scale to rachet up human intelligence and culture over thousands of years. When the ice sheets retreated, living was easy and there was plentiful food and free time to experiment with diverse ways of doing things. The return of the harsh winters in the next ice age put new ways to the test, selecting the most successful hunting techniques and stripping away the excesses of the lazy interglacial periods. Nature loves the tension of good times and bad.
If we knew enough, we might be able to maximize the balance of hard work and idle play. Musicians might get the most out of practice if we knew the right time to take a break. Right now it is time for me to get “deep in the shed” and intensify my own practicing for a while. Break time is over.